Somehow he had to get into the warehouse without being seen. That could be tricky. Schipp would have spotters with eyes glued to the locality outside the warehouse. There were few places to hide.
Navy Pier was a busy recreation complex bordering Lake Michigan where thousands of Chicagoans and visitors to the city came to enjoy the funfair, music bars, restaurants, concerts and boat trips.
Delaney glanced at his watch. It was nearly five. Navy Pier stayed open all evening. Schipp wouldn't want Delaney to approach after sundown. He had one hour. He strode around the Chicago Sun building and crossed into East Illinois Street then marched at full pace until he came to East Grand Avenue with the entrance to Navy Pier before him. Further on was Olive Park and along the side, facing the pier across a narrow inlet was a collection of old warehouses, gantries and cranes. It was a pier in miniature.
An onshore breeze riffled through the rigging of the boats and yachts moored alongside the pier. A fine spray hung like a spider's web in the air as Delaney headed towards Olive Park, turned into the approach to the waterfront and came to a halt.
He stood as still and motionless as a statue behind a tall oak. One or two cars and trucks came and went to offices and warehouses but otherwise the area was quiet with no obvious places of concealment. At the far end stood a rundown warehouse building, boarded up and surrounded by barriers. A sign told people to keep out. Schipp had chosen well. Bounded on three sides by water, close to a noisy tourist attraction with only one avenue of approach. There was no way Delaney could approach without being seen.
But that's exactly what he had to do within the next thirty minutes.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bob Messenger reassured his daughter again that daddy would find a way out of this; that she was perfectly safe and must try not to worry. But he knew he was helpless to intervene. They could do anything they liked to her and he would impotent, unable to help. He cursed his useless legs. He cursed his wheelchair and he cursed the bonds that prevented him from using the secret firepower built-in to the wheelchair that Schipp and the mindless automatons he had hired as muscle had no inkling existed.
Pandora had been strapped lightly to a wooden pillar. They allowed her to visit the bathroom but one of the black clad guards accompanied her to the basic facilities watching her with the door open. They took a delight in this, vying between them, but despised it when they had to carry Bob Messenger to the lavatory and help him.
Messenger had tried every tactic he knew to persuade Schipp to desist from his course of action. Okay, he knew Schipp was burning with the fire of revenge. Let Pandora go and take me hostage, he pleaded. You don't need to do this. I will pay you and help you escape to some tranquil, palm fronded island. Just let my daughter go.
Schipp had just laughed. If Delaney did not show then Messenger was toast in any case. Let's see just what kind of friend the Monk really is.
Messenger stared bleakly at the electric cables attached to the frame of his wheelchair leading to the almost comic book power supply dial displaying voltage output. Schipp had given him a small taste of what might be in store for him. A mild electric charge had frozen his body and his larynx and the pain surged through him.
Schipp wasn't bluffing.
One of the heavies turned and beckoned to Schipp. He was stationed by a pair of high powered binoculars wedged into a gap in the wall. Schipp strode over and pressed his eyes to the eyepieces. Then he strolled over to Messenger. "We just may have had a sighting of the elusive Monk," he told him. "For your sake, and the sake of your daughter, you'd better pray it was him and that he intends to pay us a visit. We will make him more than welcome. Then you will be free to go. You do trust me, don't you?"
Messenger said nothing, just stared at Schipp.
The hook nosed man continued. "You and your interfering website with its so-called investigators, especially Delaney, need to be taught a lesson. I admit, this is an act of pure revenge. And I am loving it. A dish served cold, they say. Well, I am savouring the hors d'oeuvres. Now, let me tell you what I have decided about pretty, pretty Pandora. Oh, she is so delectable. When Delaney agrees to trade himself for you I will release you and transport you some way from here. But if you thought you were going to get away that lightly, think again. I will keep Pandora with me to witness the demise of Mr Mike Delaney.
"And your punishment will be that you will never see your daughter again."
CHAPTER FIVE
Delaney had not moved a muscle for fifteen minutes. He was practising inner sky breathing, an esoteric technique he had learned and refined at the monastery. He had committed every part of the locality to memory, scrutinising every inch of the warehouse and its surroundings. He glanced at his watch. He had twenty minutes.
One by one he had spotted them. Little flickers of reflected light appearing in different sections of the timbered warehouse wall. They were watching for him.
A noise behind forced him to turn. A dust shrouded Freightliner pulling an intermodal container slowly ground its way dead slow towards the quayside. Delaney spotted a couple of men emerging from the warehouse next to the target building to welcome a delivery. As it drew level with him it obscured him from view.
He timed his run and prayed.
In three strides he reached the coupling between the rig and the container. He jumped and landed on the coupling crashing into the back of the rig. He squatted down. The truck had to travel past the target warehouse to a turning area at the end of the jetty and then trundle back towards the exit before reaching the unloading bay where four men in overalls were waiting.
Delaney waited.
The truck completed its slow, three hundred and sixty degree turn and headed back. To the left, over the inlet that separated the waterfront jetty from Navy Pier, came the raucous cries and screams of children rising up over the Chicago skyline on the Ferris Wheel and the sound of a jazz band playing an upbeat riff. These blended with the general peak time hubbub from the moving crowds out for an evening's entertainment.
Delaney had to get this right. As the truck entered the shadow cast by the target warehouse he jumped off, flattening himself against the old timber slatted wall. He remained motionless, breathing deeply, expecting to be discovered at any moment.
He spotted an old rear door flush with the wall and sidled towards it. He took hold of the handle and turned it praying his luck would be in. It was. The door knob twisted and the door opened. Delaney moved slowly, edging his way in, praying not too much daylight entered with him. He peered inside. It was dark and as he moved in he found himself in a sectioned corner of the warehouse used to stack boxes and pallets. He could hear voices from further within. He took another step inside and closed the door behind him.
Took another step.
An alarm screamed and lights flashed.
Shit!
Tripwire.
Delaney cursed himself for not thinking of the obvious. Schipp would not have left any entrance point without protection. Footsteps moving, heavy treads, weighty muscle on the hoof. Delaney moved along a line of shadow to a gap between towering stacks of boxes. In the center of the warehouse he saw Bob Messenger in his wheelchair. He saw the cables. And he saw Schipp with his hand on the lever. He saw a terrified Pandora several feet from her father, feet curled up, eyes wide and staring, looking everywhere at once.
Delaney counted three men moving out from the center intent on flushing him out. They carried handguns, Glocks, Delaney decided.
So, what now? He could try and take on one at a time but Schipp had the upper hand, literally, Delaney caressed the comforting grip of his .38 Smith and Wesson handgun snug in its holster under his jacket. Even if he could shoot one or more or shoot Schipp that might not save Messenger. Schipp could still pull the lever. Delaney estimated two thousand volts would surge through Bob Messenger: twenty seconds would be enough to kill him.
Delaney sensed movement behind him. He decided to do nothing. He felt the snub barrel of a handg
un ramming into the small of his back. A big man, almost as big as Delaney, pushed himself close up behind him.
"Move, asshole," he grunted. Delaney walked towards the center of the warehouse. "Here he is," said the hired muscle. "Walked right in, dead on time."
"Ah! Mr Delaney, or should I call you the Monk," said Schipp with a satisfied sigh. "Not a moment to spare. Come, join us."
Delaney registered the position of every person in the warehouse. He allowed himself to be pushed forward until he stood between Pandora and Bob Messenger. "Bob, you pick the most awkward places to meet"
"Good to see you, old son," said Messenger.
Delaney glanced at Pandora, his Goddaughter. "Lovely to see you, Pan. Have they hurt you?"
Pandora shook her head but her eyes were pleading.
Schipp tapped his fingers on the power lever. "Very touching. Well, here we all are again. I've thought a lot about you, Mr Delaney and you, Bob. I had plenty of time to think in San Quentin."
"They're missing you already," said Delaney.
"Always the funny man, eh, Monk? Well, I don't think you'll be laughing for very much longer."
"I kept my word," said Delaney. "Now keep yours. Let Bob and Pandora out of here free."
"You don't think a convicted criminal keeps his word, do you?" said Schipp with a chug-chug laugh. "Oh no, no, no. That is not the plan. The cripple I will release but the lovely Pandora has a wonderful new career ahead of her. I want Bob Messenger to suffer every day of his life imagining what his lovely daughter is getting up to. Or rather, who is getting up his lovely daughter."
Messenger twisted in his wheelchair. "You bastard. I will hunt you down for the rest of my life if you harm my daughter or cause her distress."
"You are in no position to make threats," snarled Schipp. He shouted to the man holding Delaney. "Have you frisked him?"
The man shook his head.
"Well, do it now."
"Before you do," said Delaney. He held up his hand. "You don't imagine we left the power turned on, do you? It's a different circuit to the internal electrical system and is connected to the local grid." Delaney did not dare look at Messenger as he played his bluff card.
"Shall we find out?" said Schipp.
"If you do all bets are off," Delaney warned him. "You don't imagine back-up is not outside as we speak, do you? San Quentin really does want you back."
"Frisk him." Schipp barked the order this time.
Delaney spun on his heel, rammed his elbow into the man's gun hand, slid the Smith and Wesson from its holster, jammed his thumb behind the big man's ear and pressed until he was rigid with pain and could not move and thrust his own gun hand over the heavy's shoulder taking aim at Schipp's forehead.
The action took under three seconds. Schipp stared at Delaney and started to depress the lever then stopped.
"A stand-off," said Schipp. "I love a stand-off."
"Untie Bob," said Delaney with force.
Schipp looked at the lever in his hand. He looked at Messenger and Pandora. Then he looked at Delaney. He weighed up the odds: was it a bluff or not? Messenger was harmless even untied. The cables still snared him. If the power was off Delaney would have shot him. He nodded to one of his team. "Do it," he said. "Release the cripple, but only from the binding. Don't touch the cables."
A man in black lumbered over to Messenger carrying a set of cutters. He thrust them between Messenger's legs and opened the teeth. In a quick movement he snapped the heavy duty wire binding his wrist and Messenger gasped with relief.
"I'm going to turn round to face you, okay," he said to Schipp. "I want to look you in the eye if you try and pull that lever." He paused, then swivelled around to face Schipp. He slowly slid his hands along the arms until his fingers could reach the recessed control panel.
"You must tell me all about that wonderful paraplegic machine before you go," said Schipp.
"You mean you're letting me go?"
"Oh yes, but, I won't uncouple you from the power circuit until Mr Delaney has been rendered safe and inoperable, incapable of causing trouble."
"I'm not leaving without my daughter."
"Ah! As I explained. That is not an option. The order of events is that the Monk will be trussed like a turkey and placed in that large coffin-shaped box back there. Then you will be uncoupled from the circuit and one of my men will wheel you back into the truck and deposit you somewhere in Illinois. By the time you get back here, we will all have disappeared, just like that."
Schipp snapped his fingers. Momentarily he released his grip on the lever.
Messenger pressed a button on his control panel. A 50,000 volt taser zipped out like a jet plane, scythed into Schipp's chest where the output dropped to 1,200 volts. Schipp screamed and shook uncontrollably, grasping pointlessly for the lever. Messenger fired a second taser. It hit Schipp in the stomach and dropped him to the ground where he lay comatose.
Delaney shot the nearest man in black in the shoulder. His guard wrestled free and drove Delaney back into a stack of old sacks. The third assailant slipped a metal chainsaw chain from his pocket and ran to his companion. Delaney twisted from under the big man and drove his fingers into his eyes with the heel of his hand under his jaw. Then he squeezed. The man roared and ripped himself away. The third man flailed the chain catching Delaney across the back, ripping open his jacket and shirt and tearing flesh from his back. Delaney moaned in pain and somehow got to his feet.
Memories of the early beatings he had taken in the South East Asian games came flooding back. He had learned his fighting skills in the world's hardest school, refined them as a G-Force assassin and later on the streets of Hong Kong and brought them to perfection in the secret power fighting training with the Brothers of Light.
As the first heavy ran at him head down, Delaney side stepped, crouched and delivered a Tai Chi thunder punch to the solar plexus. The man dropped to his knees. Delaney picked up an old piece of sacking as the second man came at him with the chainsaw chain. He feinted to his left then struck with his right heel into his opponent's kneecap which snapped with a satisfying crunch. He grabbed the chain using the sack for protection but was lifted off his feet in a bear hug. He relaxed then drove his head backwards into the man's nose. He felt blood spurt in a sticky mess on his hair. The grip loosened. Delaney sucked in his breath and twisted to the left pulling his assailant off balance. The other heavy was limping but committed. He swung the sharp-toothed chain that he held in a protective piece of cloth and slashed his companion across the face, opening up his nasal cavity and ripping his eye socket.
The man screamed, released Delaney and rolled on the ground covering his face with his hands to try and keep his eye and nose in place. His hands were soon awash with blood.
The man wielding the chain was momentarily stunned by what he had done to his compatriot. Delaney seized the moment. He grabbed the bloody chain with the piece of sacking, ripped it from his opponent's hand and twisted his body until he was behind him. He managed to swing the chain around the man's neck. Delaney tightened the needle-sharp noose but the man fought back. He was powerful. Delaney had to cling on to his back as he stumbled around on one leg in agony trying to stop the chain from severing his arteries.
The gunshot boomed around the warehouse.
Delaney's opponent fell to his knees. A hole had appeared in his chest. Delaney stood up, panting and bleeding and turned to see Messenger holding a Glock with one hand and an arm around Pandora with the other. She had buried her face in her father's chest.
CHAPTER SIX
Mike Delaney stood looking out over the Chicago skyline from the penthouse suite at the Hilton and Towers hotel. Laura had taken Pandora shopping along the Magnificent Mile.
Bob Messenger pressed a lever on his wheelchair and joined the Irish-American.
"Another fine mess you've got me out of," he said, handing Delaney a glass of chilled Sancerre. "How's your back?"
"Tender," said Delaney. "I've
been sleeping on my front. You're a trouble magnet, Bob."
"Not me, old man. It's you that attracts the bad rats. So, what now?"
"Oh, I'll just drift back to Boston, spend time on the boat and see what turns up."
"Still not found that one special person?"
Delaney squinted out over Grant Park and the lake beyond. "No one's ever measured up. I sometimes worry I'm turning into a reclusive son-of-a-bitch. There've been a few flings over the years but nothing special."
"Time is a great healer, eh? Whoever said that needs to be horsewhipped," said Messenger.
"When all's said and done, Bob, you've come out of the whole mess all those years ago as a winner, despite the trauma you went through. I don't think if I could have gone through what you experienced and be still smiling."
"Water under the bridge, old man. Water under the bridge."
Delaney put down his empty wine glass. "Well, I'll be going."
"Back to Boston."
"Back to the boat. I've got a few courier assignments coming up to keep me in funds."
"And you're still the Monk, don't forget. There are sure to be some cases come along that will keep you out of mischief. Expenses only, of course."
The two men shook hands. Then Delaney left the penthouse and the hotel and set out for River North. Messenger swivelled in his wheelchair and watched the tall figure striding along South Michigan Avenue until he was lost from view.
The end
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